


in a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (Really), (sort of), Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Bittersweet, Body Horror, Fluff and Angst, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Poor Theon, Robb Stark is a Gift, Snow and Ice, The Author Regrets Everything, idek what i was doing here guys, sort of canon weirdass edward scissorhands crossover you've been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8927518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which canon's events have happened in a steampunk setting, Theon's time with Ramsay resulted in fairly horrific results and Robb's post-war life isn't going too well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ... okay so. this is my throbb christmas week fic number two. I read 'scissorhands' in the prompts. I went like 'wait is that a reference to edward making ice sculptures with his hands in the movie', 'can I write this without making it a full movie au', 'well I guess that if I change it from the middle ages I can actually make it canon', 'steampunk can work', 'OKAY WHY THE FUCK NOT'. also idk guys I hoped it'd turn out fluffy but it's... sort of sad until like 2/3rds of it? I don't know a single thing about what the hell this turned out to be but hey, I tried. have my dumb take at edward scissorhands sortofcanonfusion. ( ~~it probably shows I just finished reading a steampunk series and I have to put my feelings somewhere.~~ ) and hey at least this one has some snow. I swear I AM going to post something for a *christmas week* that actually revolves around the darned holiday.
> 
> anyway, as usual: the title is from Bob Dylan, nothing else is mine and the plot is what it is. enjoy. hopefully. xD

Robb has lost count of how many times he’s been asked the fucking question.

As in, _why didn’t you kill him or send him to the Wall_?

He’s always replied that kings don’t have to explain themselves and left it at that, and given that he hasn’t really used that card much since his bannermen decided that naming him king was a good idea, they let that go.

But they still ask. And not just his bannermen. Bran still does ask once in a while, and Robb’s merely thankful that he hasn’t read his mind yet to find out the answer.

(Finding out your brother _can_ in fact do that after being separated for years will throw you in for a fucking loop. Gods, Robb sometimes isn’t sure he wants to know what went on when he was off to King’s Landing to avenge their father.)

Sansa has asked once and Robb just shrugged and told her he couldn’t bring himself to. Arya asks a lot more regularly and Robb’s stopped trying to put it into words with her – saying _given that he ended up with a psychotic madman who thought fitting to cut off his hands and put bloody_ scissors _in their place I think he paid enough for his crimes_ somehow wouldn’t cut it and he knows it.

(Then again, his sister had come back from King’s Landing different. Harder. She hasn’t smiled in months, except whenever Jon came to visit, and Robb’s added the way she looks at him whenever he tells her that he’s not changing his mind when it comes to Theon to his long, long list of failures.)

Jon’s the only one of his relatives he’s ever told the full truth to, if only because he looked at least like he wasn’t going to judge him for his choices on principle. He told Jon all that before he had to leave for the Wall again, standing outside the small but functional airship that allows him to travel to Winterfell in mere hours instead of the days it’d take on horseback.

“I get it,” Jon had said. “I get why others don’t like it, but – I understand. I don’t know if I’d have done different, if it had been about someone I was friends with.”

“At least someone does,” Robb had replied, not even trying to hide his relief.

At least Rickon was too young to remember clearly how the whole clusterfuck in which Theon had tried to conquer Winterfell and lost it to Ramsay Bolton went, so he never asks why hasn’t Robb taken the man’s head. He does ask where the ice sculptures that resemble their own direwolves so much which appear in the yard once in a while come from.

Robb’s always given him some vague answer about the gods, even if he knows even too well there’s nothing divine involved. Truth to be told, he’s not even sure he believes in the gods the way he did when he was fourteen and his parents were still alive and Theon had his fucking hands attached to his wrists and he didn’t loathe the sight of guns on principle.

(He’s seen too many and used too many during the war.)

Anyway, he’s been asked the thrice-damned question a lot of times. He’s so adjusted to it that he doesn’t even have to practice sounding annoyed or detached when Greatjon Umber brings it up again in the monthly council all Northern lords have with him to discuss the current situation in Westeros.

(Nothing has changed. Stannis is still rebuilding King’s Landing and they’ve sent over all the men and iron and the few robots they could spare, because it never hurts to be good neighbors and fuck knows if they can afford to go back to war now that winter has come. At least they don’t have fucking zombies looming on the horizon. But the fact that they had to annihilate that threat on top of the civil war the Lannisters started when they schemed to kill Ned Stark hasn’t helped their cause at all. Every other House in Westeros is helping him out and rebuilding their own towns that have to be rebuilt. They’re rebuilding all the railways that got destroyed or damaged during the war on top of that, too. No one can afford more fighting and everyone is aware of it, so the councils are really useless, but Robb isn’t going to discourage them. He needs to keep his allies close and he needs to know that they don’t think he’s losing his steel or something of the kind.

If only they knew how tired he is of this, and he’s barely twenty. He’s not looking forward to decades of handling the kingdom’s responsibilities. Though at least not all of those decades will be filled with snow and cold and ice.)

Lord Umber shrugs and tells him that it’s his decision after all, and Robb is honestly not reconsidering his decision to have Theon live outside the walls, behind the small enclosure where all of the few robots that survived Winterfell’s sack, the Boltons, the Others and the war go back to stay at night – if he had stayed within the castle or in the village, someone would have killed him already or tried to.

The thing is, he muses sadly as he tells Sansa that he’s going to take a walk and will be back in the evening, that he doesn’t know whether they’d have had a hard time doing it or not.

He’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

He whistles on his way out and Grey Wind is at his side in a moment. Robb spares a glance for the mechanical paw Arya’s blacksmith friend, Gendry, made for him a while ago. Grey Wind lost the original one during the blasted dinner in which Robb’s mother was traitorously killed by fucking Lord Walder Frey. The guy should have been their ally, and then Tywin Lannister bought him off and Robb ended up losing his mother and a good tenth of his army when she went to the Twins in order to ask Lord Frey for the soldiers he promised that weren’t coming. Robb had sent Grey Wind with her for precaution but he was the only one from that expedition who came back, alive if not whole. If he thinks about it he can taste bile more than he ever could if he thinks about Theon’s situation.

But then again, at least Theon had a few excuses. And he didn’t betray Robb out of being fucking paid for it.

Small consolations, he figures as he walks out of the walls and heads for the robots’ enclave – to be honest, this is one of those days when he’d rather spend his time in between mechanical beings than fellow humans. Not that there were many in Winterfell in the first place – the first one came out of the Citadel a hundred years ago and each is _really_ expensive. Of course, the Lannisters made great use of them, given that they could afford to buy units in the hundreds and discard old models. The ones in Winterfell have been here since Robb’s grandfather bought a few and they have names and seem to appreciate it, even if they can’t talk. (The latest models can, but who has seen one in the North? Certainly not Robb.) All things considered, it’s a reprieve.

Robb goes straight to the area where the aforementioned robots reside and waves back when one of them chirps at him in greetings – someone named that one Florian way back in the day. He seems happy enough to see him, if he interprets the chirping well. Then he nods towards the back of the few houses that one can see from just behind the enclosure. Robb nods back and heads straight there. Of course Theon will be in the back. He’s always there these days.

(The first time they saw each other after the Winterfell clusterfuck, Robb hadn’t known what to expect. He had been sort of told of what had transpired. Or better, Roose Bolton told him everything the moment Robb found out Lannister had bought him off as well, at least about how the sack of Winterfell happened. Then he mentioned that his deranged bastard son might have thought Theon a fitting subject for his experimenting, and that he let him, figuring that Robb might only have approved of it. Robb certainly doesn’t fucking approve of anything resembling torture nor _human experimentation_ , and he had made that very clear.

Anyway. He had figured it couldn’t have been pretty, and after hearing the rest of the story from Theon’s sister – who in the end did seek an alliance with them herself, and isn’t that fucking ironic – he wasn’t really inclined to kill the man. At that point, Robb had been tired of seeing dead people in general, never mind people who used to be his best friend and betrayed him out of what seemed like a very fucking misguided line of thinking.

_Scissors instead of hands_ hadn’t been what he had expected, though.

He still shudders in revulsion thinking of the moment he saw what happened – he still doesn’t know how Theon survived the procedure, not that he talks about it often or at all. Fucking scissors made of brass and iron, attached to the wrist in a way that was absolutely unnatural. Never mind that Theon’s wrists are a mess of scarring – there’s no way those things don’t hurt all the time. In comparison to that, the streaks of white in Theon’s once raven hair hadn’t really seemed that horrible, nor how thin he was or how much muscle he lost. The haunted look in his eyes, though – he had looked at Robb as if he fully expected him to produce a death sentence then and there, and as if he wouldn’t have blamed him if Robb went through with it.

Robb had just shaken his head and murmured, _I’m so fucking sorry_.

Theon hadn’t been expecting that. Robb hadn’t been expecting it either – he had surprised himself, admittedly, but the moment it left his mouth, he didn’t want to take it back.

He’s sure not many people in the world have had the experience of trying to embrace someone who literally can’t embrace you back because he might slice you open.)

Robb walks behind the houses, honestly not knowing what to expect, and –

And then he sees something he hadn’t expected. Not at all.

Theon’s with his back to him, and probably hasn’t heard him coming. His hair is tied back in a tail these days – it’s at his shoulders. And neatly trimmed, so Theon’s taking care of it somehow or has it the way he likes, which is honestly a relief – the first days after Robb led him out of the Dreadfort he wouldn’t even eat without being prompted. 

(Never mind that it was a nightmare to even figure it out – to this day, Robb isn’t sure of what complicated way Theon’s figured out to hold spoons but he hasn’t dared ask.)

He’s dressed completely in black, furs and all – the first time Jon came back to Winterfell after they had that conversation about Theon, he brought some Night’s Watch clothes that he thought might fit Theon and Robb had almost wept at it. He was just glad at least one of his siblings wasn’t actively discouraging him when it came to the entire Theon problem.

And his hands are fucking sculpting a block of ice, which is nothing new as he does that also in Winterfell’s yard when everyone else is asleep.

What’s new is that the block of ice looks like _Robb_ , down to the last detail – or as detailed as it can get when sculpting darned ice.

Robb doesn’t know how Theon managed to actually sculpt his hair, not when it’s curly and hardly easy – hells, he’s told it’s hard to paint. But he’s there, obviously working on the refining touches, small ice fragments falling on the snowy ground. He obviously hasn’t heard Robb yet, because he hasn’t turned. Instead, he’s taking a step back and looking at his work, and something gets caught in Robb’s throat when Theon raises his left hand and traces a line down Robb’s cheek with the tip of one of the scissors. A slight line appears in the ice and Theon leans back at once as if he got burned – he obviously hasn’t, but that’s not the point.

Robb thinks he wants to cry and he doesn’t know exactly why, but –

He can’t really walk back on this. He doesn’t even think he wants to.

“Theon?” He asks softly, clearing his throat when it comes out hoarse. Theon lets out a soft curse Robb can’t exactly hear and turns back towards him at once, and – Robb doesn’t know for sure how Theon’s looking at him now. He seems like he’s slightly worried about Robb’s reaction to what he’s just seen, but thankfully these days he doesn’t tend to run whenever he thinks Robb might be displeased with something he has done.

“You – you weren’t supposed to see this yet,” Theon blurts out, shrugging slightly.

“Does that mean I was supposed to see it at some point?” Robb tries to keep his tone neutral as he walks closer.

“I don’t know,” Theon replies, not quite looking at him. “Most times I thought yes, but some others it seemed – not a good idea.”

Robb doesn’t comment on that and moves closer until he’s right in front of the sculpture – fuck, it’s really remarkable. For a moment he thinks, _it makes me look a lot better than I do on any given day_. Surely he looks a lot more carefree and maybe younger in it, or maybe he just feels older than he is and has been for a long time.

“It’s gorgeous,” he says quietly, running a finger over the line on his likeness’ cheek.

Theon sends him a look that makes Robb suspect he was going to reply something other than, “Not really but it’s nice that you’d think so,” and –

Robb’s never been one for pretending to feel something he doesn’t and he’s hated doing it for the sake of his role or status. He’s not going to start again now.

“It is,” he says quietly. “And you know, if you want to – to touch me or _something_ , you don’t have to build an ice sculpture.”

For a moment Theon’s eyes go so wide it would almost be funny, if only there was anything to laugh about this. Especially since Robb doubts that whatever Ramsay Bolton did to him can be undone.

“You don’t mean it.”

Robb does laugh a bit at that. Grey Wind moves closer to Theon, his tail brushing against Theon’s leg encouragingly – or that’s how it looks to Robb, anyway.

“I do. What’s the worst you can do, cut me? I got worse during the war.” Hells, he has a scar from a bullet that almost caught him in the face on the right side of his face and he never shaves off his beard just to hide it.

“But –”

“Do you want to?”

“What if I do?” Theon’s not quite looking at him, but he doesn’t even sound as ashamed as he used to be when it came to voicing for something he wanted, back when they first met again.

Robb moves closer, so that they’re standing almost face to face.

“Then do it,” he says. “Really. I don’t mind. Go ahead.”

The way Theon’s looking at him right now, he looks like he wants to ask Robb _are you a fucking idiot without a shred of self-preservation_.

Robb is halfway sure he’d break down crying in relieved tears if Theon actually said it, but he doesn’t.

Instead he raises his left hand, very tentatively. Robb holds himself very still – he doesn’t think there’s much of a chance that thing won’t end up cutting him, but it’s really no matter right now. Not if it means the two of them stop dancing around each other – he’s so thirsty for anything to go the right way he’ll take it if Theon ends up slicing his cheek open, probably.

He doesn’t know what it says that _this_ is the relationship with someone he used to love that he’s currently trying to salvage out of the wreckage the war caused, but –

But Jon isn’t here if not once per month and just a few days, Arya looks at him like she doesn’t recognize him anymore and Sansa looks sad most of the time and nothing he does or tries to do will make her smile in delight the way she used to. Bran – Bran’s barely even around anymore – he spends most of his time in the woods and when he comes back his eyes look so _old_ Robb can’t help feeling completely out of his element. And it says all that out of all his siblings Rickon’s the only one who he can look at without feeling like he’s let him down horribly, but then again Rickon hadn’t even recognized him when they saw each other for the first time since Robb left Winterfell the first time.

Maybe he doesn’t have any other choice, or maybe he misses what he had with Theon, that kind of friendship where for once he didn’t feel responsible for the other person, never mind that just before things went to complete and utter shit Robb had known in his heart he didn’t feel just fucking _friendship_.

But he never got around to do anything about it.

Theon stops with his hand hovering in mid-air, the lames dangerously close but not enough to touch.

“Do it,” Robb says when he sees that Theon’s stalling.

“They’re sharp,” Theon warns.

“Who gives a fuck,” Robb replies without even thinking about it twice.

Theon openly swallows and reaches out, closing the distance between them. He brushes the lames against the side of his face and yes, they’re fucking sharp, but he’s moving them downwards so delicately Robb can barely feel it. For a moment, Theon stares at him in utter awe and Robb holds in his breath, not daring to move, and then the lames slip downwards and Robb can feel them nicking at the lower half of his cheek.

“Fuck,” Theon blurts out, and Robb can see that he’s about to yank his hand back.

Someone smart would have grabbed at Theon’s wrist.

Robb grabs at the fucking lames.

He barely even feels it when they cut his palm.

“What the hell,” Theon almost shouts. “Are you insane?”

Well, if making him angry was what it took to get him to treat Robb the way he used to back in the day, maybe Robb should have considered doing this before.

“I’m barely even feeling it,” Robb admits, letting the lames go and wiping his hand on his trousers. They’re black, no one is going to notice. “And at least you shouted at me. Like the good old times.”

“Shit, you are insane,” Theon says, shaking his head. He reaches down and then aborts the motion – obviously he was aiming for Robb’s hand having forgotten for a moment why it’s sporting cuts in the first place.

Robb shrugs and raises his whole hand, cupping Theon’s cheek – his skin is ice cold, but then again he figures his own is as well. Theon breathes out and leans into it. Robb moves slightly closer.

“Might be,” he replies truthfully. “I barely even know what I’m doing, these days. Not that I was any better during the war. Maybe that’s why I’m trying to – I don’t know what I’m trying to do. I just really miss how things used to be before the war.”

“And you’re starting to work on that with _me_?”

Robb shrugs. “What if you’re the only one with whom it looks like I’d have a chance in the seven hells of succeeding?”

“Then you’re really shit out of luck,” Theon says, but doesn’t move. “Wait, really?”

“Right now? Yes.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Theon replies, and he sound fairly sincere. “I’m – I know it’s also my fault, but –”

“Theon. We’ve had this conversation already. More than once. I’m done. I don’t care. And Tywin Lannister would have tried to buy out my allies anyway, it’s hardly just your fault. Never mind that you paid for it in spades. Please, just – I want to move on. I _need_ to move on.”

Theon breathes in and takes a small step ahead, his forehead touching Robb’s gently. Yes, Robb wants to scream, but doesn’t.

“Sometimes,” Theon thinks, “sometimes I can’t even believe you haven’t changed at all.”

Robb can’t help it – he lets out the most bitter laugh he can remember leaving his mouth in months.

“ _How_? I wish I wasn’t.”

Oh, if only he hadn’t changed. He longs to go back to the person he was back in the day almost more than anything else – he’d sacrifice it if it meant going back to what it was with the people he loves, but neither is happening. Maybe that is why he can’t and won’t give up being around Theon even considering everything that happened – someone who still thinks there’s something left of the way he used to be in him isn’t someone Robb wants out of his life. Not now and not anytime soon.

“Robb,” Theon says, and he sounds almost impossibly fond, “if you had changed that much you’d have killed me the moment you saw my face again. And you wouldn’t be trying that hard to get things back to the way they used to be. Believe me if you think my opinion is still worth a damn.”

Robb doesn’t know if he can, but fuck if he wants to.

“I don’t know,” he says, “but – thank you, I guess.” He straight at Theon who holds the stare in a way he hadn’t since they met again, because now it looks like he might not stop after ten seconds, and they’re close, so very close, and Robb thinks, _five years ago I’d have closed the gap_. His hand is still on Theon’s face and when he moves the other on Theon’s waist very gingerly, Theon doesn’t move away.

For a moment they say nothing, and then Robb breathes in cold air. “Can – can I?”

Theon’s eyes widen in understanding and for a moment he looks as if he doesn’t know how to take that question, but then –

Then –

“ _You_ don’t have to ask,” he replies, his voice slightly shaking.

Robb feels fresh snowflakes landing on his head the moment he leans forward – of course it had to start snowing now of all moments, but after all it looks… appropriate, maybe?

He doesn’t know. He closes the distance between them and sighs as Theon’s ice-cold lips warm under his own. Theon moves closer, his chest pressing against Robb’s even if his hands aren’t touching him at all, but – but now it doesn’t make him feel as helpless as he had back when they saw each other again after things went to complete shit.

No, Robb thinks as Theon kisses him back tentatively but obviously wanting to, this isn’t the same thing at all.

For the first time since the war ended, he thinks he might be feeling somewhat hopeful about the immediate future, and maybe for now it’s enough.

 

End.


End file.
